


My Soul to Take

by orphan_account



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Action, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He told him to put two bullets into the back of his head when the time was right, and he had agreed. But now he was standing there, with hands trembling so much he knew he would never be able to pull the trigger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Soul to Take

**Author's Note:**

> Got this idea awhile ago and could never quite shake it off until I wrote it down. The timeline is probably a little messed up(im sure), but for the purpose of telling the story I didn't let it bother me too much.

 

_The conversation was one he had been avoiding, so it didn’t surprise him when Jax Teller warned him to stay behind as the chapel emptied. He just sat in his chair, silent and calm on the surface, but on the inside his mind was screaming. Screaming because he was sure he wasn’t going to like this conversation one bit. He watched those dark eyes on him, and was silent, waiting for him to make a move._

_Jax had his hands clenching the back of his chair at the head of the table, and he swore he could see them shaking. He doesn’t dare ask him what was on his mind, because part of him had no desire to know anymore. The same part that is not so sure he likes all of this constant change anymore._

_“I made you my VP Because I knew I could trust you to do whatever I needed,” something behind that voice raised concern, “So I have something I need from you know.”_

 

His mind shifts back to the present. He is sitting in the passenger seat of the van, feet propped up on the dashboard. Head leaning back against the seat, trying his best to relax. The window is rolled down, and there’s a cigarette in his hand that he’s practically forgot was burning. His eyes rove over the body of the driver. Analyzing him closely.

Analyzing that dark line of worry creased over his forehead, or the way his skin look paler than he had ever seen it. The dark bags under his eyes suggested he wasn’t sleeping anymore. That didn’t come as much of a surprise, hardly any of them slept at all nowadays. Not with their former president’s betrayal, and the constant death of their comrades. Death that made that cartel money almost taste like poison.

 

_“What is it?” He already knew the answer. The bruises on his knuckles were a reminder enough of the constant problem. The one he had sworn he had resolved with violence and blood. Like they resolved practically everything. The mere thought of it made his stomach feel sick, partially with anger, and partially with guilt for enjoying it as much as he had._

_“I need you to take out Juice.” The words still hurt, ripping through him like a gunshot. Painful and heavy. He sent him a look he was sure was frantic. His mouth opened to protest, but the words never left his lips. Because Jackson Teller was giving him that dark glare he remembered seeing in Clay. That glint he’d seen so many times before they carried out difficult business._

_“The club doesn’t know what he did. We are never going to bring it to the table either.” He spat out the words, bitter and raw, “If they ever figure out what he did it’s going to rip what I have apart. And I don’t need that right now. This is our family. And as far as I see it he decided to spit on that the moment he talked to the cops.”_

_He eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing in protest. Because he wasn’t entirely sure it was worth the fight anymore. Both knew of what Juice had done, and both were having trouble letting it slide. He could still remember shoving Juice out in the cold that night they had been at Clay’s house. And the beating that had ensued later. He wasn’t entirely sure he could forgive him anymore._

_“When things get heated you’re going to put a couple bullets in the back of his fucking skull. Got it?”_

It takes him awhile before he realizes he’s been staring at those darken bruises all over the boy’s face. The words still echo in his head, and he just stares at him, analyzing that sad, tired look in his dark brown eyes. Those bags under his bloodshot eyes, and the way his face is almost void of any emotion. He looks incredibly empty. It’s sad really, because Chibs can remember the life that was once there. That smile that could bring warmth to the coldest of days.

That’s the moment Chibs tries to convince himself that this will be for the better. Tries to convince himself that this boy never came back from that damn noose the same. It would be easier that way, to believe he was only ending the life of something that was already broken. Something that only destruction would truly fix.

The gun still felt heavy at this side.

Because it was so hard to push back the old memories. To forget that this was the person he had once cared for so deeply. He flinched as he remembered holding him in his arms as he sobbed. He would never forget being that person. The only person Juice had to cling to in the world they’d all created by getting into such a nasty business.

It didn’t matter now.

“Hey man what’s up?” He snapped out of it when he realized Juice was eyeing him nervously, clearly uncomfortable under his gaze. He didn’t blame him. Last time they’d been left alone like this he’d been beating those bruises into his sweaty skin.

It was almost impossible to remember a time this hands had done anything but inflict hurt and punishment. He remembered the devastated look on the man’s face when he’d grabbed him and thrown him out of Clays house. Remembered the look of panic when he’d cornered him in that bathroom so long ago. The person he was looking at was different now.

That person he’d known had at least been full of life, and emotion. There was no pain in his face now, just utter and complete exhaustion.

He felt his stomach twisting as the van came to a stop. The seconds seemed to creep by, and he caught himself staring at Juice as he hopped out of the van and closed the door. It took him a moment to get out of his seat as he repeatedly tried to tell himself to get a grip. Do as he was told. It would all be easier that way.

But as he slid out of his seat his feet felt glued to the floor. It seemed like ages before he was out of the van, listening to the click of the door as it slowly closed. Neither one dared say a word. Instead he followed him to the back of the van. Watched as Juice opened the back doors, revealing their cargo. He stared down at the guns blankly, trying not to think about how much blood had been lost over them.

How the cartel business left a hole in their family he wasn’t sure they could mend.

His eyes drift again, to those sad brown orbs. He flashes back. Remembers looking into those eyes as he cried in front of him. Recalls the feeling that came with wrapping his arms around him, pressing his shaking body to his own. Dancing back and forth between sympathy and anger at what he had done. So he had just held him, helpless to do anything else.

Now he turned away, feeling nothing but bitterness. Because he had not hung himself over miles, or the cartel. He had lied, despite those arms that had held him, and the man that had let him cry into his chest.

Their friendship had been suffocated by endless lies.

He’s gazing into those eyes for what he knows is the last time. Because there’s a gun heavy at his side, and he is slowly preparing himself to use it. But Juice does something he didn’t expect. For a moment he feels like his heart has stopped beating.

“Look man, I’m sorry you had to come out with me today,” He leans against the back of the van, avoiding eye contact, “I’m surprised Jax is letting me do this.” Chibs can’t help but eye that bruise around his left eye. The one he could remember making so clearly with his shaking fist.

“You guys are all my family. You have no idea how much it means to me that you’re trying…that you didn’t just kick me out.” Juice was opening up to him. But it was far too late. He reminded himself of that as he shut him out.

“Don’t mention it. I’m here for because my pres said so. If it was up to me you’d been done a long time ago.” He watches that exhausted look creeping back over Juice’s face and forces himself to turn away.

He quickly grabs at one of the guns in the back of the van, trying to ignore the way his hands shake as they grip the trigger. Without another word he is walking down the dirt hill that overlooks their destination.

A small, rundown looking house in the middle of the woods. Someplace quiet, and cut off. A perfect place to do pretty much anything you’ve ever wanted under the radar. He remembers what Jax had told him to do. To shot first, never ask questions. Kill everyone he saw in the house. And overlooking it now he could see more than a couple men posted around its windows and doors. All equipped with weapons that rivaled his own in size.

These were people that Pope wanted dead. It didn’t matter why. Their new allegiance with the man meant that they were to carry out his dirty work when asked.

As they made their way slowly down the hill, creeping through the trees and the brush, he wondered why Juice had never questioned their orders. Because there had to be six or seven men around that house, and it was only just the two of them to take them down. Surely that would cause some alarm.

He dared look back at him and saw the look of panic on his pale face. He wondered if this was what Juice wanted. An excuse to take a bullet, and no longer have to live in exile. After all, it had been the better alternative before, right? Hanging from a tree had been better than facing the truth, was now really so different?

He told himself this would be easy, but these things never were.

When they dared fire a shot the world became alive with panic around them. Two men dropped to the ground, their blood staining the dirt. The others erupted in shouts, moving quickly to find the ,location of their shooters. Chibs made his way through the front of the house. Running up the rickety stairs of the porch as blood splattered against the white walls.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, and he kicked the front door down as he forced his way into the house. Inside the walls were littered with ugly, peeling wallpaper. The house reeked of chemicals. Probably used for cooking whatever drugs were made here. Or at least that was what he assumed. Drugs seemed to be the only probable cause for this kind of senseless violence.

His heart beat exploded in his ears as he heard the backdoor open quickly. Saw Juice bursting into the room. Face drenched in red. Suddenly the rooms alive with shouts and gunshots. Two men rush forth from one of the rooms adjacent to the one they’re in. Out of the corner of the back window Chibs can see one more, running through the backyard to where Juice is standing. The boy turns on his heels, and Chibs barely catches that look of panic on his face before he hears him scream as he pulls the trigger.

That’s the moment he stops thinking. The gun is semi-automatic, and it leaves a wave of bullets in it’s wake. The two men go down so easily, slumping against the floor in a bloodied heap. He shoots the boy last. And his gun is shaking so much in his hands he know he’s ruined everything before the bullet even breaks skin.

The moment that bullet hit his shoulder all that emotion he’d been missing came rushing back. And Chibs was just standing there. In a mess of blood on rotting wood, hands shaking, because he knew that was not the killing shot. Because he was going to have to pull that trigger all over again. Sweat rolled down his brow, and his heart was booming in his ears. Juice was on the ground now, back still turned to him. Crying and cursing as his blood spilled all over the floorboards.

It hurt.

Almost like he could feel that bullet ripping through his own body, and he couldn’t move. Because above the chaos and blood and he could hear the boy whimpering something.

His name. Crying for help in all the gunshots and horror.

Before he knew what he was doing he his side. Arms over him, clutching his trembling body to his own. He felt him lean back, and those brown orbs were staring at him, now alive from the pain. He could feel the warm blood spilling down his chest.

He sees the damage he has created. Realizes that he’s not only hit his left shoulder, by his arm as well. The boy trembles in his hands, and he can see red dribbling down his chin. Hears his gut wrenching coughs as he chokes on his own life source. Chokes as it bubbles up his throat. Feels its warmth slidding down his own arms and he holds him.

He clutches him to his chest, much like he did on that fateful night. The night he had learned Juice had tried to take his own life. He remembers crying over a boy who is so lost, one he is afraid he cannot save. And there is only one word on his mind. He's sorry. Sorry that he had not gotten to him sooner. That he had not been able to keep him from caving under the weight of Eli's accusations. Or the crushing reality that came with taking someone else's life. 

Sorry that he was so powerless to sparing this boy from a life of blood and hurt. 

He dares to look down at that painfilled face, and his movements are no longer his own.

Before he has time to think Juice is bleeding all over the back of the van and he’s speeding down the winding dirt roads.

 

 

 

 


End file.
